Partners in Crime, Death, and the General Afterlife
by Rosellyia
Summary: "We'll be like Bonnie and Clyde," he said, "…except not actually, because 'Bonnie and Kol' just doesn't have that same ring to it." ... She sighed and shook her head. / Bonnie is dead. Kol is dead. "Match made in heaven"? Ha, ha. Of course not. Kol is vengeful, irritating, persistent—and most of all, bored. Pity for Bonnie. If life was hard, death just might be hell. AU. Kennet?


**I don't own the Vampire Diaries. Duh.**

**... I just wanted to get this idea out. Jumbled, OOC, and almost crack-like. Should such a thing continue?**

** Please read and review?**

—

_"We'll be like Bonnie and Clyde," he said, "…except not actually, because 'Bonnie and Kol' just doesn't have that same ring to it." ... She sighed and shook her head._

_... Bonnie Bennett didn't know why she was so surprised; if life itself wasn't easy, life after death was sure to be hell. She just couldn't decide whether 'hell' was supposed to be literal or figurative. Kol, he didn't care either way; he was just bored?_

* * *

**...**

* * *

**Partners in Crime, Death, and the General Afterlife:**

_one_.

"—a genre of blood, death, and utter boredom—"

—

Vengeance.

A sin of humanity. A vice of existence.

There are so many quotes of revenge, spoken by so many over the years, constantly restated with so many pretty words.

—

"Revenge, at first though sweet, bitter ere long back itself recoils."

John Milton.

_A poor, blind man_, Kol recalled. _Brilliantly caught between despair and optimism._

Kol quite enjoyed '_Paradise Lost_'. In fact, he thought Milton's _magnum opus_ was a true work of art, especially considering the man's characterization of Satan himself.

However, Milton was someone Niklaus or Elijah would favour quoting—

_All the while sounding immensely pretentious whilst doing so_.

—Kol, on principle, would never speak Milton's words as they do.

Kol found revenge sweet, and the longer it lasts, the sweeter it tastes.

Both his brothers may play the villain, _enjoy _playing the villain, but they couldn't fool him as they did everyone else. Kol has seen the subtle flickers of regret.

Barely there, but no less bitter in their reality.

Neither Niklaus nor Elijah has caught onto the fact that knowing yourself to be the monster is in no way the same as accepting the fact that you are—a monster, that is.

They murder and murder and murder, but then stop to quote Milton in the aftermath—as if some dead, blind Englishman could fully justify their deeds with his presumptuous verbosity.

Sometimes Kol is disgusted.

—

"In revenge and in love, woman is more barbaric than man is."

Friedrich Nietzsche.

Kol was about eight-five percent sure that the man had been barking mad even before his psychotic break—the man _had_ to be _at least_ eighty-five percent crazy from the get go. Kol had only induced said psychotic break out of genuine curiousity as to whether or not there'd be a difference between 'sane-Nietzsche' and '_in_sane-Nietzsche'.

The fact that they'd diagnosed the man's mental malfunction as tertiary syphilis had been a surprise, but one to Kol's advantage; he loathed being lectured by Elijah—

_If I wished to be responsible, then I would be. I'm _clearly_ not. Which merely leaves me wishing that big brother Elijah would stop being such a righteous ponce and simply cease from wasting his breath on tedious lectures._

—Though a lecture may have well been worth it since Nietzsche had gone beyond Kol's expectations and went around the bend as many times as it took to get to the point of no return.

Turin, Italy. Piazza Carlo Alberto. The flogging. The horse.

Kol would never forget.

Nietzsche _definitely_ had to have had some sort of prior issues.

The series of _Wahnbriefe _he'd sent to his colleagues and friends afterwards had only served to fuel Kol's continued amusement, he'd almost choked on laughter upon reading some of the things Nietzsche had written—'_Madness Letters'_, indeed.

_But for a slightly barmy old codger, the German did have some surprising insight_.

'_Übermensch'_—the ideal, superior man, literally translated as 'superhuman person'.

It wasn't a concept that far off from the reality of things, but Kol reckoned that Nietzsche had to have been kidding himself if he thought that such a goal could be achieved by humanity.

Though he did applaud the man for his unheeding sense of idealism.

Unsurprisingly, Nietzsche was another philosopher both Nik and Elijah frequently quoted, if only to showcase their exaggerated cynicism towards both the world and their own beings of existence.

_Pretentious, as always._

Rebekah, however, absolutely detested Nietzsche.

Kol had been much amused by her tantrums of protestation against the German's misogynistic words.

It even furthered his amusement to watch her struggle against ripping Nietzsche's throat out, in fear of disappointing Elijah as he'd held a fond respect for the human and his ability to speak.

Both righteous Elijah and murderous Nik got on famously well with the philosopher, much to Rebekah's chagrin.

But Kol knew that what truly got under his baby sister's skin was not the words Nietzsche spoke, but the truth within them.

Rebekah fell in love far too easily, and with the ease of her fall, she always fell too hard.

Love made her both ruthless and _blind_.

Rebekah never hesitates to destroy all that is in her way of obtaining her desires, but in the end, she also never sees the stake until it is placed directly through her heart.

_It gives a completely new meaning to 'heartbreak'._

Now, it would all be rather poetic if Rebekah were truly a compassionate soul driven by love and affection—if she had the ability to forgive no matter the precedence.

Rebekah wasn't such a thing. None of them were.

_Not anymore._

And there was nothing poetic about the way Rebekah expertly defined the term, 'a woman scorned'.

'Barbaric' was a close description, but Kol would probably go for something more like, 'bloody-as-_fuck_'.

Rebekah is a slave to the idea of passion, whether it be for love or revenge.

Both turned her instinctively towards the monster within, and yet there was always something so human about her savagery.

Something no amount of masks could hide, neither ones of humanity nor those of the vampire.

Kol more or less agreed with Nik's opinion of love, but while it is _one_ of the greatest weaknesses to vampires, 'love' itself was not the _greatest_ weakness of all.

He found that the _idea_ of love was a far more potent weakness.

Once you credit love and decide to immerse yourself within the emotion, almost nothing can cleanse you of it—of this 'love', a subjective ideal you've managed to convince yourself into accepting and believing whole-heartedly.

Rebekah is a repeat victim of this idea; she simply never learned, despite the thousand years of experience. 'True love' is not a fairytale.

'True love' is _nothing_ like a fairytale.

You can't just write everything out as you please—no matter how many people you compel or how many hearts you seize (literally or figuratively).

Rebekah will never have her fairytale, no matter how hard she tries.

_She will never be the princess—because despite the abundance of money, jewels, and pretty dresses, Rebekah will never be more Beauty than Beast. _

_There will never be a tall tower guarded by a dragon—because even if dragons _did_ exist, Rebekah will never allow herself to be trapped within a boring old tower; she most certainly does _not_ have the patience to _wait_ for a rescue._

_And as far as I'm concerned, no Prince Charming will ever be worthy of Rebekah—because despite what they say, 'Prince Charming' is nothing more than a fictional twat who somehow manages to convince numerous girls to fall for his bland, one-dimensional character._

_Ugh. _Kol wished to retch at the very notion of 'Happily Ever After'.

Rebekah will never have her fairytale—because Kol would sooner stake her in cold blood than witness her pathetically descend into the stereotypical role of a helpless 'damsel-in-distress'.

_There are already one too many of those in the world. One. Too. Many._

Kol does love Rebekah—he loves _all_ his siblings, despite their opinions of his behaviour and mentality—but Rebekah doesn't understand.

None of them do. _None_ of them listen.

Rebekah remains ruthless, blind, and barbaric.

_She fell in love with that blond commoner._

Sometimes Kol pitied her.

* * *

_Sometimes—_

"Shut up," a voice interrupted, snapping irritably. "Just… _Shut. Up_."

* * *

Kol blinked—once, twice—and turned towards the source of interruption.

"Oh," he said in realization, "I'd forgotten you were there."

She rolled her eyes with a contemptuous huff. He admired how green they were—cold and sharp—against the warmth of her smooth, dusky flesh.

"You have pretty eyes," he commented aloud. "_Very_ pretty eyes."

_Would they be prettier out of their sockets? _he curiously pondered.

She gave him an inscrutable look before sneering, "Whatever, Kol. Just stop narrating your life story to me, because it's freaking annoying and I really don't care." She turned her back towards him and began walking away.

Kol felt the familiar pull of rage—_People know better than to turn their backs on __me_—and he reacted upon it as his instincts dictated.

Moving forward at a speed quicker than one's sight could discern, he slammed into her with a violent shove.

He relished in her gasp of surprise—pain—as he pressed her harshly up against the wall, face-first. He leaned closer, smoothing himself languidly over her small frame.

She hissed sharply, tensing uncomfortably.

For a moment, a brief rush of heated lust washed over his anger as he felt the smooth lines and soft curves of her delicate body press tightly up against him.

Kol grasped onto her slender neck, flipping her around. He grinned appreciatively as he noted that her front was no less alluring.

In fact, he reckoned he rather favoured how he could observe the rise and fall of her quickened breaths and erratic heartbeat.

"Don't turn your back me, darling," he whispered huskily; a menacing threat thinly veiled in seduction. "You—"

She cut him off once more. Though instead of words sharply snapping into him, Kol felt a familiar press of magic rip through him mercilessly.

Groaning in pain, he let go of her with a strangled bark. He clenched at his head, fisting dark hair harshly as he tried to will away the torture.

Kol felt a sense of déjà-vu at the situation but this time there was an evident lack of balloons and trash-filled lockers surrounding them.

He looked up at her doll-like figure with unlikely admiration while the pain still coursed steadily throughout his brain.

She stood confidently with impeccable posture, drawing up her short stature until it looked as if she were more six-feet tall than a meagre five-something.

She looked at him with unveiled disdain—like he was nothing more than absolute trash—and while it should have brought forth the intense rage he was known for, Kol found himself entranced by her honesty.

_I've always admired witches,_ he thought absentmindedly,_ but there's been very few like this little one._

Although Kol had lived more than a thousand years, he had only come across a small handful of witches as powerful and as unyielding as the small girl before him.

_Even then, she is one of the few that has ever dared to bluntly demonstrate their hatred towards me with a clear knowledge as to who and what I am._

Her cold green eyes showed no sense of despair, of regret, of uncertainty. She looked at him with complete determination as she inflicted wave after wave of unrestrained magic upon him.

He admired confidence, strength, and brutal—_Ha, ha, how literal_—candour.

All of which this little slip of a girl possessed.

Kol stared at her unwavering countenance—calm and remorseless—for another minute or two before growing bored with feeling the constant pain of aneurisms.

He pursed his full lips in distaste, wondering how he could possibly cease the torture. Kol doubted that she'd listen to even a single word of reasoning.

Remembering something—something very, _very_ important—he grinned through the pressure of pain.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, his aneurisms ceased.

Finding the renewal of strength refreshing, Kol quickly drew himself to his full height—he hadn't even realized he had crumpled to the floor. He towered over her petite figure menacingly.

All thoughts of admiration quickly fled his mind as he observed her expression. It was full of uncertainty, fear, and surprise. Gone was the powerful witch from before.

Her cold green eyes visibly widened; Kol found that he didn't like the doe-eyed quality to them.

She looked human.

"H-how?" she stammered out, pretty little lips parting at her trembling jaw.

Kol found himself reluctant to answer her. She was no longer the strong, confident witch of before, and though it was petty of him, he found himself wanting to spite her just because.

"It's a secret, _little witch_," he sneered disdainfully. He loomed over her darkly, his posture threatening.

He wanted her to cower, to cringe in fear, for daring to torture him under a bravado of strength. He wanted to make her cry for fooling him into believing that she was different from the rest. She disappointed him, and he was _not_ one for disappointment.

To his delighted surprise, she quickly returned his sneer with twice as much disdain.

"Fine," she snapped, shoving him away. He allowed it, moving complacently along with the weak push of her small hands as he relished the return of her fiery attitude; he was glad that her strength was not solely reliant upon her ability to perform magic, like it was for so many other witches. "I don't care anyways," she muttered dismissively.

Kol gave her mocking look, dubious. _Right_, he thought sarcastically.

As if she could read his mind, she huffed with annoyance and rolled her eyes dramatically for good measure.

"I really don't care," she stated in conviction. "Not that I'd believe anything you say anyways."

Stepping a few more feet backwards, he allowed himself to fall easily onto the bed behind him. The sheets weren't as soft as those at Niklaus' house, but the faint scent of her made up for it.

"Hey," she barked at him, "that's _my _bed!"

"So?"

"'So?'" she mimicked incredulously. "So _get off of it_! Better yet, why are you even in here, in _my _room?"

"I'm just doing what I want, little witch," he replied, leaning further into her bed. She smelt delicious. "So just deal with it, and don't be such a bore." At her disgusted grimace, he beckoned with a noncommittal wave and a teasing smirk, cooing, "Come, little witch; join me."

Expecting her angry attack, he was not surprised with her yelp of frustration when it did not work.

He almost grinned at the small victory before he was surprised by the pull of the sheets beneath him.

He let out an uncharacteristic screech as the bed linens came alive, engulfing him beneath their cheap, scratchy cotton before tossing him unceremoniously off her bed.

He landed with a loud thump on the other side of bed, hair rumpled and face set into an annoyed frown.

He glared at the bed linens as they innocently rearranged themselves into perfection.

_If only I hadn't been attacked by pillow cases, bed sheets, and an ugly coverlet_, he thought mutinously. _If only…_

Kol crawled back onto the bed with a determined look of defiance, turning to the little witch with a daring look.

He was pleasantly surprised by her sudden burst of laughter; the little witch crumpled against the wall—which he'd initially pressed her into—with completely unrestrained mirth.

While he was never one to allow others anything at his own expense, Kol found himself without to the familiar urge to tear out a throat with his teeth. Though there was a niggling amount of annoyance at the sight, Kol let the little witch laugh her little heart out, even if it was at _him_.

To laugh. He had a feeling that it had been quite long since she was allowed such a thing.

"I made you laugh, little witch," he stated the obvious. She immediately sobered at the sound of his voice. "And since I'm such a delightful, handsome, _charming_ vampire, one who's made you laugh, I'm allowed to stay, yeah?"

She frowned, scoffing at his words with a venomous glare, "As if, Kol. We aren't friends. Just leave me alone and go. And perhaps you'll be lucky enough to get hit by some modesty on your way out."

Kol was unfazed by her sudden changed in attitude.

"Some gratitude there, little witch. I thought you'd be more_ appreciative_," he mockingly leered. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "I don't fancy being friends with you, little witch, I just fancy—"

"—Please don't finish that sentence with something like 'I just fancy _you_.'"

Kol chuckled. "Don't flatter yourself, little witch. While you are an exquisite creature, I'm not Nik, I don't 'fancy' little girls, and I'd merely wished to say, 'I just fancy a tumble between the sheets.'" He laughed once more at the sight of her affronted expression.

"You're disgusting," she snapped. "I'm _not_ a little girl, vampire. And there's something absolutely wrong with how you supposedly don't 'fancy' little girls but are completely fine with having sex with one." She scowled darkly, adding, "_Not _that I'd _ever_ have sex with _you_."

"Now, now, little witch," Kol soothed with a cheeky grin. "Don't be so offended, darling, else I'll think you care. Though that wouldn't be quite surprising since I'm devilishly handsome."

She gaped at him in disbelief.

_Probably revelling in my astounding cockiness_, he thought in amusement.

He continued, "But don't take it the wrong way, sweetheart. When I said I don't fancy little girls, I meant I don't 'fancy' women in general—and when I say 'fancy', I mean _fancy_, as in '_like _like', because I'm fine with the 'fancy' that means 'wanting to fuck'," he paused contemplatively, placing a finger to his bottom lip, before continuing, "In fact, I'd quite fancy you in _that_ way, because although you're considerably younger than me, you're exceptionally lovely." He winked lasciviously, and added as an afterthought, "And when I said, 'I don't _fancy_ little girls', I only meant 'little girls' as in the broad consensus of women—since, considering my age versus that of every other woman, they would _all_ be 'little' in comparison. Even—"

"Kol," she hissed loudly, pointed and sharp, "shut the hell up. _Now_."

He gave her a pensive glare at her interruption. He hated when people did that; it was rude.

"This is seriously uncomfortable, and extremely awkward," she continued. "I don't even know you, so why are you even here talking to me about all this personal stuff?" she asked in confusion. "I mean, you show up out of nowhere and start talking about Milton, and Nietzsche, and quoting revenge, and your thoughts about your family, and I just don't understand. This is all too personal for me."

"You know why, Bonnie," he replied enigmatically.

"No, I really don't," she shouted in exasperation. "We've only actually met like twice and we've, uh, definitely disagreed both times, not to mention we parted on less than amiable terms the last time. I don't know why you would show up in _my_ room, barely acknowledge my presence, then just randomly start narrating. Why can't you leave me alone, Kol?" she demanded angrily. "You and your family have already ruined enough. I could care less about what you want to say about them."

"_Excuse me_?" he hissed. "Little witch, I'm sure I didn't just hear you accuse _my_ family of ruining things. Since I'm pretty sure it was _you and your merry band of foolish halfwits_ who did that, that and _more_."

"No—" she tried to protest.

"—Shut up. Your fucking friends are the reason my family is ruined—"

"—It was ruined _long _before we even—"

"—_Don't even_, little witch. We may have been damaged, but we weren't irreparable. We had all eternity to do that, to fix 'us', but, _of course_, your friends effectively ruined any chances of _that_. The friends that you'd like to think of as bloody saints don't care for anything but themselves—"

"—You are such a hypocrite! Your family is no different, Kol," she snapped heatedly.

"Maybe so, but at least we don't pretend otherwise. At least we didn't try to hide how monstrous we were behind that sanctimonious attitude every one of you favour—"

"—But, Klaus—"

"—Don't even get me started on _Nik_. How many times have you tried to kill my brother? How many times have you failed? How many lives have you allowed to be sacrificed in that bloody plight? Your friends are pathetic—"

"—If we didn't stop him—"

"—Then, what? He would have killed you? Killed all your friends? Yes, that would've been _exactly_ what he would've done, but not without your senseless provocation—"

"—_He_ provoked _us_. He wanted to make Elena a bloodbag—"

"—Just shut the fuck up, little witch! _I don't care_. That bitch deserves to die. She's the reason for every fucked up thing in this pathetic little town that my family always seems to gravitate towards. She's the reason my brother was murdered by that miserable commoner whom 'Bekah _fell_ _in love_ with—"

"—Finn wanted to kill you all; he wanted to die in order to kill you. He was suicidal—"

"—He was still my brother! He was my older brother and he treated me better than my own bloody fucking parents; he was better to me than even Elijah, Nik, and Rebekah combined. On that day, the day that you lot mercilessly murdered him—he'd wanted to live. I found it quite _ironic _that the day he died had been the first of a million others that he'd truly wished to live. He wanted to live for that 'one true love' he'd lost all those years ago. _He wanted to live_—"

"—We had to—"

"—What? Kill him to kill Klaus? To kill us all? To s_ave Elena_? _What_, little witch? What was worth the lives of all those apart of Finn's bloodline? There is no logic—"

"—We didn't know that killing Finn would kill every one of—"

"—No. You didn't know, but when you found out, _none_ of you cared. Your vampire friends only cared to find out which of us they descended from; they cared for solely themselves—"

"—Elena—"

"—Elena, what? She cared? As if. That desperate quim cares for nothing but herself—that, and stringing along those two Salvatore imbeciles. She likes to think herself different from the other Petrova bitches, but she is _just_ like Katherine and Tatia. They're all desperate little trollops who think that life is but a melodrama featuring nothing but their own little tales of woe. They think it's alright to run around as the main characters of this fucked up world while all the other 'little people' suffer—"

"—She isn't—"

"—Fuck, little witch! Elena is the reason your mother is a vampire. The reason you had lost your magic. The reason all those people died—"

"—No, she didn't mean to. It wasn't her—"

"—Please _don't_ continue. Everything is Elena Gilbert's fault. _Everything_—"

"—That isn't fair, Kol—"

"—Shut the fuck up. Shut. Up. I don't care if it's _fair_! She's the reason _I'm_ _dead_. She wilfully committed genocide with my death. I'm not an idiot, little witch; I knew that was her plan all along. She extinguished all those lives, all the vampires I'd ever created. She _murdered_ thousands upon thousands of people—"

"—The cure—"

"—_I_ _told you to shut the fuck up_, little witch. The cure wasn't worth all those lives. Elena Gilbert isn't worth all those lives. I know that witches think being a vampire is some sort of epic sin, but those vampires were people, too. People who had lives of their own, lives that I _know_ they've fought hard to relinquish from my grasp, lives that meant something to other people. Elena-_fucking_-Gilbert was not worth waking Silas—"

"—She would have died if—"

"—She _should have_ died! In fact, she _is_ dead. She's a vampire, whether she likes it or not. Why is she so special? Why does she deserve a cure? Your friend Caroline was unwillingly turned, no? I don't see _her_ whining about being a vampire. I've turned thousands of unwilling, and they either got over it or put an end to it. If Elena Gilbert couldn't handle being what she was, she should have killed herself long ago and saved us all the grief—"

"—How dare—"

"—I _dare_. I dare because she murdered me. She and her wretched brother _burned_ me alive. She kills everyone around her and still dares to act innocent, faultless—"

"—Stop—"

"—_Stop defending her_, little witch! She's the reason _you _are dead! The reason why _Silas _killed_ Jeremy_! Elena Gilbert is the reason why you sought to give your life in exchange for that querulous adolescent brother of hers, who sure as _hell_ doesn't deserve you," Kol finished quietly, sighing tiredly.

He didn't need to breath but he still felt the lack of it.

She was crying. Whether in anger, frustration, or sadness, he did not know.

"We died because of her, _Bonnie_," he whispered, tasting her name upon his tongue for the first time since he'd begun. "We _died_."

And her room fell into a stifled silence, an ironic death-like quiet aside from her sobs.

—

"Elena is my best friend," she said, finally, crumpling to the ground tiredly and sobbing into her hands. "I love her like a sister."

Kol didn't know whether or not he wished to rip her head off for such a proclamation, or simply reach forward to comfort her pitiful cries.

"I know," he settled for, "_I know_. It's just a pity that you love her more than she does in return."

She glared with teary eyes at him; Kol was just glad he could incite something other than sadness from her cold green eyes.

He faintly smiled, though not quite sincere. "But, I know what it's like. There's nothing wrong with loving someone more than they do you."

"I doubt you've ever loved _anyone_," she muttered spitefully. "You're too selfish and bloodthirsty. You couldn't care for anyone but yourself."

He shook his head, smiling drily. "You're right, of course. I'm selfish, greedy, and completely merciless. I enjoy being a monster and have no use for love or humanity," he stated matter-of-factly, "_but_ you're also wrong. Despite my lack of use for it, I still love my family, Bonnie. I've always loved them more than they did me, and I've always known that no matter what I did, I'd still be the only one who loved them all the most."

"Why?" she reluctantly asked. "How do you know that they couldn't love you as much as you do them?"

He laughed, and quickly listed his reasonings with a sardonic tilt to his lips, "Rebekah's too fickle. Niklaus is too caught up by his own silly concept of 'love is weakness'. Elijah is too prone to disappointment. Finn was too involved in self-hate to focus on love. Mother was too intent on righting her wrongs. Father was too prideful and murderous," he paused with a dry chuckle, an indulgent smile twisting his lips when he continued, "Though, _perhaps_, my baby brother Henrik could've loved me as much as I did him. It's a pity that he'd died so young."

She didn't seem to know what to say in response. Licking her dry lips, she wiped at her teary green eyes, pulling her dark hair over one shoulder in quiet contemplation.

"Why," she paused, sniffling, "why are you here, Kol? You still haven't told me that."

"Because," he simply said. She gave him a pointed look. "Because you're the only one who can see me. Just as I'm the only one who can see you."

"Jeremy—"

"—_Other_ than Jeremy and his screwy 'ghost-whisperer' abilities."

"How is that possible? I know the living can't see us, but… There's other dead people in this town too," she stated. "People who just can't move on."

He chuckled. "Yes, but they're insignificant," he commented with a shrug. She bristled. "I meant that in the nicest way possible, Bonnie. You're the only other supernatural I sort of know—who's also conveniently both young and attractive—that hasn't crossed over to the Other Side." He continued, "And, although Jeremy can see me, I doubt he'd take kindly to my presence. I don't think he's over the fact that I aspired to chop off his arms," Kol whispered conspiratorially, "that, and how I only pretended to be his mate back in Denver."

Bonnie scoffed distastefully, but Kol didn't miss how she tried to suppress a smile.

_How cute._

"So, just because I can see you," she slowly recanted, "you've just suddenly decided to come here and treat me like your personal therapist? How did you even know that I hadn't gone to the Other Side with everyone else? And why haven't _you_ left?"

"I'll answer those consecutively," he said. "Yes, I decided to randomly stop by and talk because I was bored. Plus, you're also _quite_ easy on the eyes. Next, I knew you were still here 'cause I could sense your presence—though it did surprise me that you didn't stay on the Other Side, since I'm pretty sure you left for it before coming back." She blinked in clear surprise. He smirked. "And, finally, I haven't gone anywhere because I don't _want_ to. This plain of existence is so much more entertaining." He stood from her bed, stretching himself out languidly like a cat. "And, I've heard rumours that hell isn't too fun. I don't do too well with heat. Cold-blooded vampire, and all that, you know?"

Bonnie blinked incredulously, questions visibly flickering through her eyes.

"Don't stress yourself out, little witch. I just want some company. I bet you do too."

"What if… What if I don't want _your_ company?"

"Too bad," he stated, shrugging nonchalantly. "It's not like you're going anywhere. We're both dead, so I think I'll just follow you around if you prove yourself difficult."

"I could move on. Be with the people I love on the Other Side."

Kol scoffed, "Right. If you wanted to do that, then you wouldn't have walked right back onto this plain after visiting the Other Side. We both know that you can't move on, Bonnie."

"I—"

"Oh, _come off it_, little witch," Kol chided lightly. "We both know that being alone gets boring fast, and I doubt you want to spend your dead eternity wandering around alone and moping about. That'd be quite cliché of you."

"I—"

"It'll be fun! We can even go wreak havoc on our unsuspecting family and friends! We'd be partners in crime, or something. I'll even help you torture Niklaus for eternity and beyond. But, that's only if you agree… and let me pester Damon Salvatore for a bit."

"I—"

"I'll persist until you give in, little witch," he threatened menacingly. "I'm not one to give up, as you well know."

"I don't—"

He stuck out his lower lip into a semblance of a pout.

"I just d-don't want to be alone, Bonnie," he feigned, punctuating with an exaggerated sob.

She cringed. He smirked.

"I'll pester you until you say yes, little witch. And I promise you that if it takes me forever, then be prepared to see me every second until then."

"That's—"

"Either you willing endure my company, or I force it upon you. Either way, little witch, the result is the same."

"I—"

"Come on, Bonnie! Don't be such a complete and utter _bore_! Don't you ever do anything exciting? I mean, you should at least make up for the fact that in life you were such a complacent little pushover, whose only source of excitement happened to be performing Black Magic and Expression to help save your useless little friends."

"_Fine_, Kol," she snapped angrily. "Okay. Whatever. Just… Shut up."

"You—" he paused. "Wait, '_okay'_? Right. Okay."

"Kol, _please_. Just stop talking," she muttered, rubbing at her temples.

"We'll be like Bonnie and Clyde," he said, "…except not actually, because 'Bonnie and Kol' just doesn't have that same ring to it."

She sighed and shook her head.

Bonnie Bennett didn't know why she was so surprised; if life itself wasn't easy, life after death was sure to be hell. She just couldn't decide whether 'hell' was supposed to be literal or figurative.

Kol, he didn't care either way; he was just bored.

_And silently scheming away._

* * *

"So, little witch, where did you want to go first? New Orleans? Stay here? If we go to New Orleans, we can go bother Nik. And _Elijah—_oh, the pure anticipation. Would you like that? I would. Or do you want to go stalk Rebekah? I heard she's travelling around with that blond simpleton of yours. Or do you want to—"

"Kol?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Shut. Up."

Kol laughed loudly, silently pondering upon how long it will take for both of them to truly snap.

Or for her to find out that he always had plans of his own.

* * *

"If an injury has to be done to a man, it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared," said Machiavelli.

Kol smiled.

_Some will soon fear more than others._

* * *

**...**

* * *

_to be continued._


End file.
